


i know the sound of your heart

by hamiltrashed



Series: flooded my senses [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But like... of the auditory kind, Eavesdropping, Is that still voyeurism? IDK whatev whatev y'all know what I mean, M/M, Masturbation, Of a sexual kind, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Senses, Some founding fathers Independence Day porn for you, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When obnoxious 3am fireworks wake Alex from a deep sleep, he overhears something else he's fairly sure wasn't meant for his ears.</p>
<p>(Or, the one where someone jerks it in a bed next to their sleepy partner. Very sin. Such gay.)</p>
<p>Senses Series | <b>Sense</b>: <i>hearing</i>.</p>
<p>[Recently changed my pseud from <b>s0urw0lf</b> to hamiltrashed, in case that confused anyone!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know the sound of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> So, as we all know, today is the 240th anniversary of this young nation's founding, and it is also the 190th anniversary of the death of Thomas Jefferson (and John Adams, y'know, if that interests you). But, it's also my 24th birthday, and to celebrate that, I figured I could not make the founders of this nation more proud than by celebrating my birth and the birth of this country by writing explicit dirty things about them. So here we are. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Michelle_A_Emerlind, and Skarlatha, who is basically just becoming my test audience for giving this a thumbs up.

Contrary to popular belief (the term ‘popular belief’ here implying ‘literally everybody’), Alexander Hamilton knows how to listen. He doesn’t always put the skill into practise, sure, but he knows _how._ And listening… well, that’s the key.

When he does listen, it’s mostly to Thomas. Despite what Thomas seemed to think once upon a time, Alex has always been listening, even if before their relationship it was solely so he could memorise every detail of everything Thomas said, and then tear it apart with his own argument. Granted, he’s since learned to pull his head out of his own ass, at least where Thomas is concerned, and really _listen_ , because he’s discovered in the years since they met that Thomas actually has interesting, intelligent things to say. He’s learned that Thomas is kind, sweet, affectionate, and utterly devoted. He cares for Alex more than anyone ever has. So Alex listens, treasures rather than loathes, holds close each and every _I love you_.

Alex is listening right now, in fact. He doesn’t mean to be. He means to be sound asleep, somewhere deep in a dream. But someone, in their infinite wisdom, is setting off illegal fireworks at 3am, and it wakes Hamilton instantly. His eyes fly open at the first loud _crack_ in the sky, the first sizzle. He can’t see the colours, but he keeps his eyes to the window anyway, waits for the sirens, waits for the police to go and shut down what will ultimately be a very short-lived Independence Day celebration, almost 24 hours early. But truthfully, while the fireworks have gotten his attention, it’s something else that’s keeping it. Something he can just barely hear under the distant fireworks and his own sleepy breathing.

Thomas’s moans are soft, almost inaudible. But there they are, half choked off in the dead of night, so quiet in this city that quite literally never sleeps. Alex shuts his eyes instantly, evens out his breathing, hopes Thomas doesn’t know that he’s awake, that he’s caught him. The bed quivers just slightly with his movements, and the soft rustle of bedsheets and blankets on bare skin seems suddenly obscene.

Alex wishes he could watch. His belly tightens with arousal, and his cock stiffens beneath him against the mattress, and god, he wants to _watch_. The thought of what’s going on behind him is as enticing as cool water on a hot day, but he knows if he turns over, Thomas will either stop, or this will turn into sex, neither of which Alex wants. Not right now. Right now, he just wants to bask in the moment of Thomas touching himself in the pitch dark, making pleased little noises in the back of his throat.  
  
Alex has watched him before, and in his mind, he can picture the way Thomas is laying right now. He’s sure he’s propped against his pillows, his legs spread. He’s sure there’s one hand on himself, one tangled up in the sheets, sure that his eyes are closed and his lips are parted and Christ, the _sounds_ he’s making. They’re muted, faint, but Alex can almost feel them the same way he feels his chest rattling with the fireworks.

Alex shifts as if he’s moving in his sleep, further angles his head across his pillow toward Thomas. His eyes stay closed, his face stays turned toward the window, and Thomas barely reacts. His breath hitches in his throat like he’s startled by Alex moving, but beyond that, he seems unconcerned. With a last few booming blasts, the fireworks die out, and then it’s just the two of them. Or more accurately, it’s Thomas, and Alex is a guest at his party, a visitor to the world that he’s lost in.

Alex can hear the way he’s slowly losing control to the touch of his own hand, his moans sweet as apple pie, and Alex grips the underside of his pillow. Not one for inaction, the temptation to be on top of Thomas right now is unbearable, but Alex resists. He shivers a little, back arching like a dance to music that is only Thomas.

Alex can tell that he’s getting close now; he’s breathless and the bed trembles again as he shakes. His thighs must be shaking, too, the way they tend to, his abs taut and tense. Alex wishes it were his own hands on him, but being a witness (albeit a blind witness) to this is something special. A pornographic little treat he doesn’t often get.

There’s a curse word or two on Thomas’s tongue now, a few of his favourite four letter words, including Alex’s name. And then it’s over in half a heartbeat. All Alex can hear now are sharp, shuddering breaths as Thomas comes, a gentle thud as Thomas’s free hand hits the headboard, grips it tight as his hips lift from the bed, then drop back down.

His breathing is still shallow, fast, hard as he slips from the bed toward the bathroom. Alex takes the brief reprieve from the utterly satisfying torture of lying there listening to Thomas to turn onto his side, adjusting himself in his boxers, willing away a problem he can’t take care of just now. He opens his eyes, stares through open window, wishing for a cool breeze. He gets none.

He closes his eyes again just before the mattress shifts a little as Thomas rejoins him. He rolls onto his side, right up against Alex, curls one arm across his body, strokes his fingertips down his stomach. He kisses the back of Alex’s neck, then presses his mouth against his ear. His hand roams further down, toying with the waist of Alex’s boxers, but not touching him. There’s a deeply contented sigh, and then laughter in his voice when he whispers, “Go back to sleep, you little eavesdropper.”

Alex can’t keep the smile from his lips. He gives up the charade. “You always used to say you wished I’d listen to you more. Hear you loud and clear now.”

Thomas hums softly, and Alex can almost hear the eyeroll in it. He returns his lips to Alex’s neck, then settles in, arm still tight around him and holding on.

“I do _so_ love it when you finally resign yourself to listening to me,” he murmurs.  
  
“Yeah,” Alex yawns, snuggling back against him. “As it turns out, you’re full of _fantastic_ things to say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from "The Sound" by my fave band, The 1975. Go forth. Listen. Love.


End file.
